


I Wanted to Win So Badly

by hawkywithshawzy



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Cuddling, M/M, Team Canada, Team USA, Upsetting loss, WCH2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkywithshawzy/pseuds/hawkywithshawzy
Summary: Team USA's loss to Team Canada took a toll on Patrick Kane.





	

The only thing Pat hated more than losing was losing to Jonny. That stupid maple leaf loving, 100% face-off winning son of a bitch had to rub it in his face that Canada invented hockey, we have Sidney fucking Crosby, what the fuck ever. Pat was playing for his country here, he didn’t need that stupid shit he gets all the time in the regular season.

But it stung. Looking across the ice and seeing Jonny there in red and white, different from his blue and white. Seeing him fist bump with Tavares and Burns and Duchene, strategizing their next shift with guys that weren’t Pat. That was Jonny and Pat’s thing. That was what they did between shifts, or in their hotel room after a road game. He knew Jonny wasn’t replacing him, of course, but it still hurt. Because as good as Pavelski and Parise are, they weren’t Jonny. Bottom line.

He stripped out of gear in the dead silent locker room, the only sounds of tape being ripped off of sticks and helmets being hung in lockers. He showered quicker than most, just wanted to put on normal clothes and get back to the hotel with as little media time as possible. The tears were an annoying presence behind his eyes, stinging them whenever a reporter asked him to comment on the way they lost, to a contender like Canada, all the things that made Pat want to cry even more than he already did in the shower.

He thanked the media on his way out, pushing the door open with his shoulder, making his way to the bus that would take the team back to their hotel. He knew he still had a bronze-medal match to play, and that he couldn’t stay upset forever, but right now it seemed like the best option, so he let himself sulk all the way back to the hotel, Oshie attempting a small smile. He appreciated the effort, but he just didn’t feel like smiling. Now, or ever.

He practically tore his suit off, not realizing the amount of anger and pain stored up in his body until he was alone. He took another hot shower, throwing the shampoo bottle on the floor of the tub, like it had anything to do with the loss. He ripped the shower curtain on the way out, slamming his phone on the bedside table, not even bothering to turn it off. Not like he was going to reply to any texts anyway. He was sure there were text from people like his dad: You did the best you could, Buzz, his sisters: Don’t beat yourself up, Patty. It’s just a game. I know you hate hearing that, but it is, and you’re still the best, so no need to stress, but more importantly, from Jonny. Those were the texts he was specifically avoiding. Kaner, I’m sorry buddy. Come on, answer me, please. It wasn’t your fault, just let me know you’re fine. Pat? Hello? He didn’t want to look into Jonny’s big brown eyes and admit defeat. That was the part he hated the most.

So when there was a knock on his door 25 minutes later, he knew it couldn’t be anybody else but Jonny. He debated laying there, not moving, letting Jonny sit outside the door and wonder if he was dead or just severely depressed. But he knew Jonny would be knocking down the door in a matter of minutes if he didn’t get up to answer it, so he shuffled out of bed, across his dimmed room to the door. The light from the hallway flooded in his entryway, reveling Jonny and his look of pure concern.

“Didn’t think you were gonna let me in there, for a second,” he said, stepping into the room next to Pat. “Glad to see you haven’t hurt anybody.”

Pat didn’t say anything, just closed the door behind Jonny and followed him like a lost puppy. 

 

“Talk to me, Kaner,” Jonny said, taking a seat on the side of Pat’s bed. “I don’t care if you yell, or scream, or break things. Just, speak words. Please.”

Pat stared at him from across the room, pulling the right side of his shirt up to reveal an already purple bruise forming on his upper torso, right where his ribs start. “Fuckin’ Corey Perry, man,” he mumbled, running a soft palm across the damaged skin. “Couldn’t tell if you were trying to hit me too, or just trying to get the puck,” he said, softly, as if raising his voice could shatter the tension hanging in the air between them.

Jonny’s eyes widened as he got off the bed, walking over Pat to look at the growing injury. Pat always seemed to know how to stay out of the way of the physical aspect of the game, but tonight it got away from him. Jonny reached out to grab Pat’s hand, dragging him back over to the messy bed. “C’mon, get in,” Jonny said, settling down next to Pat. Pat left a space of about a foot between them, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“I wanted to win so badly, Jonny,” he managed to say, his voice high and delicate. “So badly.”

Jonny’s heart just about near broke, hearing Pat talk like he’s an eight year old who wanted the pee-wee championship trophy more than he wanted an A in science class. Jonny sometimes forgot that Pat was one of those kids that dedicated their everything, their being, to hockey. Everything he did was for hockey, everything he thought about was for hockey. He watched as the tears silently rolled down his face, cheeks red and hot from the emotion of it all. Jonny knew Pat needed his space, that he needed to let him just work it out, but he reached out anyway and pulled him in closer, letting him rest his head on Jonny’s collarbone.

“I know you did. I know you did,” Jonny said, running a hand through Pat’s curls, still damp from the two showers he took. “But I know you well enough to be certain that you know it wasn’t your fault,” he said, using his free hand to wipe the tears from Pat’s face. “It’s not your fault, Patrick.”

Pat just buried his head deeper into Jonny’s chest, his legs scrunching up to rest against Jonny’s thighs. He was crying harder, his breaths shaky and uncontrollable. “Just breathe, Pat, just breathe honey,” Jonny said, hanging on for dear life. “It’s not your fault.”

And they fell asleep just like that, Pat relaxing in Jonny’s arms, his breaths even as he fell deeper and deeper. Jonny didn’t drift off until he knew Pat was asleep, away from the inner turmoil he was feeling. 

“I love you,” he mumbled, eyelashes fluttering against Jonny’s t-shirt. He was tired, so damn tired, but he could never sleep unless he said it out loud.

“I love you too, Patrick.”


End file.
